what i hear when you don't say a thing
by thetsunderemage
Summary: Felix isn't used to this silence, but what can he do? Written for Felannie Secret Santa 2019!


He finds the first note on his favorite mug—the one with the grumpy black and white cat hand-painted on it. The words are written in green ink, like the compliments she leaves on her students' works.

_you're scarier before coffee,_

_so please have some first :)_

Definitely not a compliment. He shrugs as he pours himself some coffee and makes his way back to their room, expecting to find the mess he left on his desk the night before. To his surprise, his documents have been sorted and placed into a neat pile next to his laptop.

Upon closer inspection, there's one particular sticky note on his keyboard which looks nothing at all like the ones he leaves for himself when he knows he's bound to forget where he left off. A smile finds its way to his lips as the mental image of an angry hamster comes to mind.

_it's ok to work hard,_

_but not too hard! :(_

He is hit with a vague recollection of her gently tugging on his sleeve as he was going through evidence past midnight. She must've gotten up when she realized she was alone in bed again. It's probably leaving a bad impression, given that they've just started living together, but he can't simply abandon his work. He'll have to make it up to her later. Somehow.

But first, work. And coffee. Not exactly in that order, of course. Thankfully, a quick glance at his notes—don't mind the chicken scratch handwriting—tells him he only has to do a once-over before heading down to the prosecutor's office. He can take his time.

So he does. He's still uncertain if it's the fact that he's now sharing his apartment with his beloved girlfriend or if it's something else entirely, but the place feels a lot cozier. Just weeks ago, he was always in a hurry to leave, though he didn't consider himself a workaholic, and the only incentive he had for coming home was the comfortable bed waiting for him in his room. Now, he finds himself looking forward to leaving the office even before he's out the door.

It's strange, but he doesn't dislike it.

The drive to the office was a blur. In fact, he only manages to snap out of his trance completely when Sylvain calls out to him in the hallway. Since they technically agreed on meeting up to discuss matters pertaining to the case he's currently handling, he has no choice but to sit through his friend's teasing remarks, particularly about his new living arrangement, for a while, before eventually reaching his limit and _politely_ suggesting that they focus on matters that are actually related to their jobs. Sylvain takes the hint, but not without making an inappropriate joke which prompts him to wonder if a murder at the prosecutor's office would make for an interesting headline the following day.

Lunchtime would've been unremarkable, if not for Ingrid scarfing down an entire box of brownies next to him. While her appetite and her ability to manage such an impressive feat isn't news to him at this point, the encounter is worth noting as it reminds him of a certain someone who happens to love sweets, as well.

And that is how he finds himself walking out of the grocery store with a tub of ice cream and a loaf of bread. He's not entirely sure _when_ she managed to slip that little note into his briefcase, but he's glad he found it just in time.

_i've made a startling discovery!_

_we are almost out of bread D:_

Now, he has no choice but to head straight home, lest the ice cream melts in the car; to be fair, this works in his favor, so it's not something to complain about. He breaks his personal record for shortest amount of time taken climbing up the stairs when he arrives.

The apartment appears to be empty when he pushes the door open. If it weren't for the tote bag on the couch which wasn't there when he left for work, he would've assumed that she was still out—something that would've irked him, considering that he specifically instructed her to take it easy in light of her condition. He receives the answer regarding her whereabouts when he passes by the bathroom and hears the sound of running water coming from inside. Not wanting to disturb her bath, he drops by their room for a quick change of clothes before making his way to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

He's gently stirring the soup in the pot when a raspy scream fills the room, followed by a coughing fit.

"Annette!"

He nearly drops the wooden spoon as he fumbles for a glass. The panic doesn't die down until he's right in front of her, making sure she doesn't choke as she drinks the water he brought her.

"Welcome back, Felix."

Normally, this would bring a smile to his face, but there's no mistaking the pained expression that came with it.

"No talking, remember?"

Her response is a pout, which he ignores as he places a hand on her back to gently guide her to the dining table. She seems to appreciate the gesture, as she instantly reverts to her cheery self upon sitting down.

He serves the soup moments later, much to her delight. On any other night, dinner would be filled with chatter, mostly from her end. However, Annette had strained her vocal cords after days of cheering for her students. He couldn't fault her for being so dedicated to her work, but he also wishes she hadn't pushed herself like that.

She's barely halfway through her first bowl when he decides that the room is too quiet.

"So," he begins, "how was your day?"

She opens her mouth to speak, only to be stopped by the look of mild disapproval on his face. With a sheepish smile, she pulls out her phone and starts typing.

_My students did great! I'm proud of them._

As much as he wants to say something along the lines of, "Well, they owe you at least a few wins, considering you lost your voice supporting them," she'll get mad at him for being insensitive, so he holds his tongue and opts to hum—in approval, if she wants to interpret it that way—while he thinks of another topic. Luckily, she's too preoccupied with her soup to wonder if he's planning to keep the conversation going.

_Ah. The soup._

"Why did you scream earlier?"

When he looks up from his own meal, she's typing—quite furiously, too.

_You came home early and didn't even bother to switch the kitchen lights on, so I thought there was an intruder! How was I supposed to react? D:_

"I didn't realize it got darker while I was cooking."

_You scared me!_

"You should've grabbed something to protect yourself with, too."

_Pardon me for not __t__aking one of your swords with me._

"Maybe you should have, but that would've been dangerous, given your lack of experience. We can work on that, though. Should we spar together when we have time?"

She gives him an incredulous look, only breaking eye contact to type a response.

_You'd let me touch your sword?_

Felix nearly chokes on his food.

He's over it by the time he's washing the dishes. Annette volunteered to help, but he insisted that she needs to rest. She refuses to leave the kitchen, however, so now she's just watching him scrub the remnants of their dinner off the china his father had gifted him when he moved out.

Once again, he finds the silence unsettling.

The day Annette first sang to him—not to be confused with the first time he ever heard her sing—was the day he realized he could live the rest of his life just listening to her voice. She can read the text on the back of a shampoo bottle out loud and he wouldn't want to miss a word of it. He would never admit this to anyone, but he's fantasized about Annette bursting into song in the middle of a mundane task and dancing around as she continues said task with the grace of a Disney princess. Sylvain would never let him hear the end of it if he ever found out.

Speaking of Sylvain, he still has to look into some documents that he mentioned earlier. He's already getting a headache just thinking about it, but he can't allow such holes in the evidence he's going to present.

Annette must've noticed his discomfort, because she's now giving him a look of concern. _Great._ The last thing he wants is for her to worry about him.

"There's ice cream in the fridge," he blurts out in an attempt to divert her attention. "You should get better soon if you want to have any."

Her eyes betray how conflicted she is. Nevertheless, the small smile on her face reassures him that she'll let it slide for now. This, however, doesn't stop her from wrapping her arms around him from behind and affectionately pressing her cheeks against his back. Whether she's doing this to console him or simply to show her affection, he's not sure. All he knows is that they're two idiots swaying to the rhythm of one of her made-up songs under the dim lights of their kitchen, and the dishes are in need of some rinsing right about now.

The following day, he wakes up with a note stuck to his face.

_good morning, my love!_

_i'm making pancakes today :)  
_

He only manages to stare at the message like the lovestruck fool that he is for a good five seconds before his nose picks up the scent of something burning.


End file.
